In the Long Run

I attended my husband’s family reunion this last week, and I had only one major complaint. No, it was not the obligatory family history program with stories about grandma’s quilts or great-great-grandpa’s service in the Mormon Battalion. (That was actually satisfyingly short and interesting.) It was not the stifling heat in an un-air-conditioned lodge. (Though not pleasant, it provided fall-back conversation when the distant cousins visited one night and we had nothing else in common about which to talk.) It was not Cousin Bubba’s gleeful water barrages with a super-soaker that sprayed as forcefully as a fire hydrant. (At times, those attacks were almost welcome and invited.)

No, the bane of the family reunion for me was the straw tick mattress in the cabin to which my family was assigned. I knew going into this trip that accommodations described as “charmingly rustic” had to be unpleasantly primitive. “It’s only for three nights,” I comforted myself as I spread my sleeping bag and pillow out on one of the striped mattresses that, though bulky, appeared to be more substantial than the alternative choice, foam rectangles set in the bunks, which were basically plywood boxes.

That night, I climbed into my bunk close to 1 AM. I was exhausted, and although the cabin was a bit stuffy and warm, I fell asleep rather quickly—and woke up just minutes later. I couldn’t get comfortable. It was like trying to sleep on a bale of hay. I guess that’s because I was sleeping on a mattress of hay. I wriggled and writhed the rest of the night never finding my comfort zone. The next morning I felt as though my body had been put through a hay baler.

The next night I forced myself to go to bed earlier, because not only was I exhausted again, I planned to run a long run of 15 miles the following morning. Mercifully, I fell asleep rather quickly again, and stayed asleep almost an hour until the cabin door squeaked opened as the rest of my family crept in after watching a video in the main lodge.

They whispered, and bumped, and giggled, and clambered up onto their top bunks. I suppose they were trying to be quiet, but I became wide awake, and suddenly very aware again of my horribly uncomfortable mattress. It was lumpy and hard, and hurt my back…and everything else. Soon I noted the others’ peaceful, heavy breathing, and I knew I was the only one awake, still trying to find a comfortable position so I could sleep.

“Miserable mattress,” I seethed. As I squirmed and flopped around for a while longer, my frustration with the mattress transferred to my family. “Not fair…now THEY are sleeping, while I, whom they awoke, will never be able to get back to sleep on this crummy mattress.” I fumed, and found some sadistic satisfaction in the thought of my early alarm waking THEM up in a just a few hours. Although a sad commentary on my character, my vengeful imaginations comforted me back to sleep.

I planned for my last night on the mattress to be the best. My two oldest children and their spouses had left the reunion early, and so their foam mattresses would be unused. I took two of them and piled them on top of my straw tick, and put my sleeping bag on top of it all. Certainly only a princess would be able to feel the straw under six additional inches of foam padding. I guess I’m destined to become royalty. Alas, it was another restless, fitful night, although I think I actually had a dream about being comfortable.

Now I’m home, eagerly anticipating blissful sleep on my plush, king-size bed with its pillow-top cushioning. Although my nights on the cabin mattress were completely miserable, the fun and family camaraderie of the reunion well made up for my suffering insomnia. And in the long run, I think I will sleep happily ever after….zzzzzzzzz.

Posted by Cyppy at 10:24 PM